Our garden from hell is planted with good intentions and a whole bunch of other things we never intended to grow.
An evil hosta lurks in the northwest corner. It points its giant spiky leaves at us and hisses a little when we try to sneak past. God know what henchmen scurry around underneath that thing. We’re afraid to look.
A cluster of … something is growing between a flowering whatcha-ma-call-it and a dead mum. We thought it might be self-planted corn. Now we’re not so sure.
Three months ago, with the optimism of spring still bouncing around our happy little hearts, we cleared the ground for planting. (And, by we I mean Molly. I just pointed out a small depression era shovel sitting dusty in the corner of our garage, and suggested she dig.)
Then, we took our smug selves to Home Depot and filled our cart with a bunch of random plants. We bought lavender, because Molly once made lavender ice cream that tasted delicious; rhubarb, because the strawberry rhubarb cream pie at Yoder’s Bakery is to die for; coreopsis, because Molly picked it out and I didn’t want to tell her I had no idea what it was; one “Leading Lady Lilac” because I’m a sucker for lilacs and alliteration, and one cherry tomato plant, obviously.
We envisioned a lovely, colorful, but practical space where perennials and annuals, flowers and plants, lived in peace and harmony. But, summer came calling with its music festivals and campfires, and we let it whisk us away.
Last week, I stepped out and discovered, to my delight, that our tomato plant was glistening with bright, red cherry tomatoes. I popped one right in my mouth and for the 11 seconds it took me to chew, I felt at one with the farm to fork movement.
Then I looked around. Our lavender plant looked panicked as it held its dainty head precariously over a sea of ground cover we can’t identify, something ate the rhu out of our barb, and our “Leading Lady Lilac” had gone all Sunset Boulevard on us.
We are not gardeners…yet.
Five years ago we launched this blog with a post about our six-foot by two-foot garden that never grew anything except turnips. It’s possible we’ve taken a step backward, away from Mr. Green Jeans and back to Captain Kangaroo.
But, we’re going to keep plugging away, at this blog and in that garden. And, while we’re honing our skills, we’re going to enjoy the bountiful harvest of friendship and fresh tomatoes.